To Tame An Angel: A Femdom Fantasy Romance

CHAPTER ONE

LADY NALLA

It seemed strange to receive a grown man for one’s birthday, but these are the presents we are gifted.

“You spent too many months with a man, Nalla. You sympathize with them,” grandmother said on her deathbed.

But to celebrate my birthday meant celebrating the death of my twin. The servants murmured whispers of me strangling him so I could arrive first. Likely exaggerated lies, but the notion haunts me. It’s not like I would’ve known my brother for long. All boys are taken at age five to the pits and the general held no mercy for men. Mother, the Royal General to the Queen, birthed no other boys and was proud of her four daughters to carry her revered lineage.

The black paint of birth is marked on my forehead, a latticed pattern for today I become a woman. Decked in an imperial white dress with golden sandals so that all those who see me know that here is a woman about to select the first cock she’ll ride.

We usually ride horses.

Mother enjoys the power of the animal, and we’re well-schooled in equestrian techniques. We are, after all, daughters of a general. Should a war arise, we’ve been trained since birth. But today we rode in a carriage, mostly for Villa. Her belly is wide as she enters her seventh month of pregnancy. It makes me wonder if one day that will be me as I ride with my younger sister on her auspicious day.

My hands tremble and I’m plagued with worry. What if I make the wrong choice? What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me? Mother would scoff at my inner dialogue. Despite all the training and the countless hours of tutelage, I still believed the man sharing my bed should wish to be in my bed. Of his own volition. These thoughts were mine. These thoughts were illegal.

This past year, mother trained me in the art of taming. It’s more than pain or discomfort, a taming is invading their mind. I’ve watched as she broke the men she selected and encouraged me to do the same. There was no denying the arousal flooding me at seeing of the men chained and pliant. Cock rigid and leaking, desperate for release. However, rigid cocks are not what enter my daydreams. In the world with my mind, I cooed tenderly to my bound man, caressing his face, and praising his good behavior.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and mother sighed in relief. She shoved her door open, not bothering to wait for the servants, and jumped out. My stomach was fisted tight, and I swore I’d be sick.

Villa glanced at me with a wry grin. “You best go first. It’s your day.”

Nodding, I pulled my dress up, careful not to step on the fine silk. I wanted to look nice when I met him. Whoever he was. Wouldn’t bode well to be wrinkled and frazzled, would it?

The odor of the place slammed into us like a wave. It smelled like a training room. The scent of sweaty, dirty bodies creates a rancid symphony.

Mother stood in her military regalia, her sword strapped to her waist, her hair braided, and her feathered helmet on her head. She yanked it off and smiled, as if we’d just arrived at her favorite establishment. Despite her years, she’s muscled and lean, losing none of her vigor.

Next to her, Zaya jumped down from her horse and landed neatly next to mother. She’d refused to ride the carriage, casting a glowering look to Villa at the sight of her round belly. Zaya was also dressed in her military armor, and she resembled mother so strongly, it was uncanny. As the eldest, one day she would be the Royal General, something she had a great fire for.

Zaya tossed her long brown braid to the side and looked at me with amusement. “How grown you look, little Nalla.”

Her voice is a silken mocking purr, which flushed me under the sun. She always did this, always wished me to know my place as if I were nothing more than a man.

“If you weren’t busy all the time riding your mediocre angels, you could’ve stopped by for my celebration dinner,” I snapped in disdain.

There was no shame in Zaya. She plastered a smirk and followed mother as they entered the pit. Poor Villa huffed as she was aided down from the carriage, sighing when she stood next to me.

“Don’t take it to heart. She also mocked the day I got my first angel,” Villa said with a soft look. “Don’t let her take the joy of it.”

Would there be joy? I wasn’t certain. Now marked the days of struggle as I attempted to wrangle this unknown man into submission. There was little chance of voicing concerns as mother called our names. Seeing the General, the Matron who ran the pit was delighted. Likely because mother was a steady customer and only purchased the very best.

“General Hollian, you honor us once more!” The Matron said, her face was pale and freckled, but her skin was worn and sagging.

Mother glanced at me. “I bring my third daughter for her first. Why don’t you round up your most impressive ones? I want her first to be a bull.”

A flurry of movement began as the pits echoed the instructions, and the taskmasters selected the men. Seeing as I’d never been here before, I desperately wished to look. Without awaiting permission, I pressed myself over the railing and stared down into the pits.

A good fifty feet below was a large carving made from the black mountain. Within, it seemed like a city of its own, with doors and rooms, windows and greenery. There were no fine slates to adorn the floors, only clay-dirt painting the men’s feet.

What greeted me was a sight to make me gasp.

So many men! How was one to choose from so many? There were short men with stocky, compact bodies. Mother loved those. There were thinner ones with long bodies and gangly limbs. Villa preferred those. And then there were the bulls; massive men with wide shoulders, muscled arms, who walked as if a giant cock dangled between their legs.

Mother joined me in my perusal, and she chuckled at my reaction. “You’ll not take one of those. The best are not kept there, in the clay-pits. These are still nice to look at, don’t you think? Sometimes, when I’m feeling particular, I drop a single feather. Whoever it lands on, I choose. It’s lovely to see the panic on their faces when they look up to find me watching.”

Her face was hard. She was lovely once, but the bitterness of life ate away her beauty and now she was leathery harshness. Staunch lips and a withered chin.

“Is that how you chose father?” I asked, because I was in constant desperate need for information about the stranger who’d meant so much to her.

He lived in the shadows of my childhood home. She never spoke about him, and I suspected she loved him. It’s a suspicion she would never admit, for she didn’t wish for death. Nor would she admit to a weakness. All I know of father was he didn’t live like other men, chained, and abused. He would share his bed each night with mother and Zaya would sometimes hear them laughing privately. He would play with Zaya, toss her in the air and chase her, constantly cherishing her.

Zaya’s bitterness began the day he disappeared. Be it they killed him, or he left, we don’t know. But one night, he was gone. From that day forward, mother was never the same. It was the same night I was born.

I believe the fantastical notion of love between my parents carved my own ridiculous dreams about my own angel-man. Maybe I could experience the forbidden. If my sisters ever had such dreams, they’d not shared them.

Mother’s eyes were lost in the movement of men below. Suddenly, she flinched and turned away. “No.”

We were ushered ahead to the fenced area where the best of the best were brought for our inspection.

I paused as we entered. Over fifty men kneeled on the grainy ground, some in cages, but all of them staring down. There are so many to choose from that I am overwhelmed. They’re all large, young, healthy, and attractive.

Mother and my sisters glided forward, working their way through the selected as the taskmaster proudly displayed the men. Naturally, taskmasters are never selected themselves. I hesitated, suddenly unsure, and my stomach fisted so tightly I thought I would be sick.

“They have little selection this year, don’t they?” mother asked with a tone of antipathy.

She held up a man’s chin. His eyes were closed. His hands were shackled behind him, and his torso was pinned with a golden rope. Just in case he dared sprout his wings, it would be easier to capture and kill him.

He looked like all the others here. Defeated. There was something off-putting about the entire spectacle.

All my life, I’ve been waiting for this moment. It’s what I’ve trained for. I’m the daughter of General Hollian and I’m expected to be a master tamer, like her. Just like my older sisters. My mother can tame a man in a few hours. Zaya took eight days to tame her angel and Villa five. I was expected to beat their records. Something I doubted.

“Nalla,” mother’s voice is sharp, like the whip she uses whenever one of her men misbehaves.

She was holding a man, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. His eyes remained closed, for they weren’t allowed to look at us until owned. Until he looked upon his mistress. Another sentiment I disagree with. To stare at someone’s eyes is to see their soul and the souls of others was a great curiosity to me.

“He seems easy enough for our Nalla.” Zaya touched his hair and dug her fingers into his scalp. She yanked, and he flinched.

This was not what General Hollian wanted to hear. Mother didn’t like those easily broken. It’s why there were many servants in our home. Once she broke the men, she didn’t want them. It seemed none of them were father.

“No, she shouldn’t feel disappointment so early in life,” Mother scoffed and walked away. She perused others, pausing and studying, then tsking and finding another.

“You don’t have to pick someone today,” Villa said. Her eyes wandered to some of the options, lingering on the man Zaya teased.

An easy thing for Villa to say. She was of age for two years and already she had two men. She seemed to enjoy their company and spent much time with them in her private home. Her enormous belly made her glow, and she rubbed it softly. Villa loved being pregnant. She was born for this. She’d not said who the father was. I doubt she knows or cares. And it would matter little. A child’s father was not as important as a child’s mother.

“Perhaps I’ll be the one to take another today,” Zaya said and laughed as she moved to another man. There were scars across his back. He was large and muscled, with a grizzly beard. My eyes lingered on the markings. He’d been abused.

“You have enough,” mother said, walking back to us.

Zaya scoffed, “Four is hardly enough–”

“It’s your sister’s day, not yours,” mother said and looked at me. “Come, I found one of interest.”

Her tone indicated that I wasn’t allowed to ignore her. She was still my mother and I’ve no autonomy until I tamed one of these men. If she’d spotted one, she believed to be the right one, then I should at least pretend to consider.

She pointed at a blond man, head bent, hands fisted, body tense. There was a fresh wound on his thigh and it looked red, in need of tending. My instinct was to check on it and see if I could help him.

“Look him over. See if he’s to your liking,” she said.

When I touched the man’s shoulder, he recoiled. I felt sorry for him; it made the wound on his thigh open and fresh blood seeped from it.

“But this is one needs medical attention,” I said, feigning haughtiness. “Certainly, you’d not sell us a bleeding angel?”

Mother raised her brow. There was pride in her, and she coolly eyed the overly apologetic taskmaster. He snapped his fingers, and the wounded man was taken wherever it was they mended their wounds.

I’ve no choice but to move around the men. My dress brushed against their bare backs as I carefully stepped my sandaled feet on the pebbled ground. I stood before a man I found to be attractive. Broad and tanned, with reddish brown hair and the shadow of a thick beard. His head was bent and his fists tight.

Slowly, I touched his hair. It felt wrong to snatch up his face when he’d not given me permission. Behind me, Zaya laughed at my lack of violence. Ignoring her, I caressed him to see if he would lean into me.

“Quiet,” mother snapped. Her eyes were on me, inspecting my technique. The same techniques she’d shown me since I was a child.

“What’s your name?” I asked the man.

He stiffened under my fingers. “Eighty-nine.”

I resisted the urge to probe. They each have a name. They each hide it. It’s my job to extract it from him. To pull it from his screaming mouth as I broke him. Revealing his name would mean he was mine and I’ve done nothing to deserve him. I’ve not shown him the might of Actasia. The might of the queendom surrounding us.

Sensing movement, I nearly detected a chuckle. Pausing my inspection of Eighty-nine, I glanced to my right. Locked in a cage is a man. Much like the others, only he’s not on his knees. He was bound, sweaty, and looking rabid. But his eyes were open, and he stared at me.

My near gasp almost gave him away.

His stare was so intense I almost jumped out of my skin. He quickly closed his eyes, but the smile still played on his lips. He was massive, wide and muscled, yet trimmed from many hours of labor. His hair was so dark it seemed black, his skin is tanned, with scars on his forearms from the shackles. His face was sharp, but his eyes were blue. A bright crystalline blue.

And he’d dared look at me.

I didn’t know why he was in a cage. I didn’t know why he was not out with the rest. I just knew this man looked at me. This man mocked me.

A sharp fire rose in me. The arousal I felt was not lost on me, but I reeled it in. My interest in Eighty-Nine evaporated.

“Why is that one in a cage?” I asked.

Mother perked up at my interest. She smiled, a slow Cheshire smile. “Ask him, daughter. Make him tell you.”

“Nalla cannot handle a cager.” Zaya laughed, throwing her head back as her long braid cascaded down her back.

A cager.

Yes, I’d heard of them. They’re not for the having, but if I wanted him… if I wanted him, I could get him. Mother would make sure of that. I carefully walked to the man and stood as close to the bars as I dared. A part of me was apprehensive about his boldness. Another part of me felt heated. The sizzling of magic danced from the tips of my fingers.

Our magic was so special, it should only be used in specific situations. It drained us, took our strength, but it was available if we should need it.

“What is your name?” I asked him.

He lifted his angular chin. That damn smile was still there.

“The lady knows I’ll not tell,” his voice is deep. The type that cuts through flesh. The silken smooth baritone rippled my skin.

I resisted the urge to slap him. If he weren’t already in a cage, I would.

“What did he say?” Mother asked. She had little patience for my indecisions.

I looked back at the man. His eyes might be closed, but there was a defiance to him. If he wasn’t caged, he would escape. I was certain of it. With his colossal frame, it would take our combined magic to chain him once more.

“Tell me your number. I command you,” I said with as much strength and steadiness as I could manage.

His eyelids fluttered. He desperately wished to look at me. But he’d caught the attention of the women so he wouldn’t dare. Interesting. His jaw twitched, and he tightened his fists within his shackles.

“Seventy-four.” There was a drip of venom in his voice.

I stepped closer to his cage, feeling braver. “Why are you in this cage, Seventy-four?”

He tilted his head until it cracked his neck. “Because I’ve been a bad boy.”

The amusement in his tone outraged me. How dare he speak this way? I’d never heard a man be so forthright. I had to reel myself in. His words were for me, and no one else.

“Do you know who I am?” I asked. “Since you like to stare.”

His nostrils flared. He breathed in, as if he was smelling me. He could sense the perfume I dabbed on my wrists. If he had true talent, he would smell the drip of my cunt. I felt rather foolish right now for dressing up and taking such care of my hair. A man like this would scoff at my effort.

“I know you enjoy speaking to men you cannot handle, white dress,” he said between clenched teeth.

The indignation that erupted inside of me at his words sealed the deal. Leaning forward, I studied his face. He was disgusting, filthy, and ready for his bathing, for he smelled foul.

“Look at me. I dare you,” I seethed, gripping the bars. “Open your eyes like you did before. I am, after all, nothing but a little girl you could crush with your strength. Open them.”

He considered my words. He wanted to open them. He wished to defy me. It was in him to defy. He was a bull and I’d never conversed with one before. They say my father was a bull.

“My eyes are for my lady,” he said. “And you’re not she.”

I stared at his defiant face. There was a part of me that felt the need to break him. Tame him. But also… another part of me wished a man like this would desire me. Willingly bend before me. Cherish my kisses and worship me. Be willing to kill anyone who meant me harm. Find happiness between my legs. And when the time was right, be willing to accept my mark, instead of me forcing it on him.

I straighten at the thought. Mother was observing me, considering my stance.

“I’ll take this one. I’ll take Seventy-four,” I said. To my credit, my voice didn’t shake though my knees trembled.

Seventy-four moved, jangling his shackles. He sharply inhaled his breath. Mother’s eyes narrowed as Zaya laughed and Valle looked on worriedly.

“Bathe him. He smells like shit and sweat,” I snapped at the taskmaster and walked towards the carriage.

Without turning back, I was keenly aware Seventy-Four’s eyes were on my back.